


For The Good Of Our Nation

by Sagartolen



Series: Hetalia: plot-bunnies [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 18th Century, Alternate History, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Colonialism, England (Country), Gen, Historical Accuracy, Historical Hetalia, Historical References, Personification, Time Travel, country personifications
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-12
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-05-01 06:00:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5194829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sagartolen/pseuds/Sagartolen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If you had a chance to change the world would you take it? Unfortunately, England finds this responsibility thrust upon him when he is thrown centuries into the past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The first thing England noticed upon entering the land of consciousness was that he was somewhere warm and comfortable. 

This, in itself, was not strange save for the fact that he distinctly remembered falling asleep on the small office sofa. It was neither warm nor comfortable. Not one to stew in mystery England opened his eyes and found himself gazing up at a ornate, velvet-red bed canopy, extending high over his head. Despite these surroundings looking strangely familiar this was definitely not his bed. For one his bed had no canopy, having been removed several decades ago, and secondly, he would never put up something so garishly lavish. 

The second thing he noticed upon wakening -and perhaps the most startling- was that he had company. Specifically, he was in a bed and there was someone next to him. A rare occurrence but not impossible and would be more welcome if he knew what the bloodily hell was going on. Carefully, so not to disturb what very well may be a potential lunatic, England turned his head. 

He froze…There was no possible way…How was this possible? 

Next to him was …well…another him. 

A duplicate of himself was sleeping next him. This had to be some sort-of joke. It was probably fake and most likely some sort of well done paper mache. Wait… no…paper mache was stupid as whatever lay beside him was too realistic. Who in their right mind would clone him then move him into a bed with said clone without his knowledge. England let out a soft sigh and repressed the urge to rub his eyes in irritation. This all sounded like the sort of practical joke America would think up and proclaim a work of genius. Which led him to the logical conclusion that this was definitely America’s fault…somehow. Any second now the idiot would jump out from under the bed laughing like a imbecile and deliver a vulgar one-liner about England loving himself too much. 

England carefully shifted, holding his breath as the bed creaked under his weight, examining the face before him. A few seconds of tense silence passed and no America came leaping from the shadows. The clone twitched, causing England to inhale quietly. Was that thing alive?!!! How in the name of all Earth’s nations did he end up in these situations? He exhaled quietly so as not to wake the imposter next to him. he considered the figure, hoping the answers would reveal themselves. It was undoubtedly a very good replica, getting nearly everything from the shade and style of his blond hair to his facial structure and large eyebrows nearly spot on. Yet, upon closer inspection, slight differences revealed themselves. For example, its’ face was fuller and slightly more youthful, if that was possible, which he could not help but think had some sort of significance. However, he reasoned, this could be a side effect of half the face being squashed into a pillow, preventing him from giving a proper inspection.

After his many years as a country personification there never seemed to be an end to the oddities of which his life was comprised. Silently, he contemplated his next course of action, becoming momentarily distracted by the clone taking a deep breath, confirming that is was, most certainty, alive. England disentangled his hand from the bed sheets, creasing his eyebrows into a frown, and reached out in an almost trance like state to poke the figure. Maybe he was hallucinating, he wouldn’t put it past France or even Scotland to slip something into his drink as a practical joke. Not likely… but possible. 

Unfortunately, it was the moment in which his fingertips were mere millimeters away from prodding the clone in the forehead that the sleeping figure’s eyes snapped open. 

They both froze. A few seconds of stunned silence settled uncomfortably between them before the clone’s eyes widened in shock. 

Then there was a flurry of movement as the clone flung himself backward with a loud yelp. England, shocked by the sudden action, rolled backwards over the opposite edge of the bed, hitting polished floorboards with a hard thud. He winced, rubbing a pained shoulder before struggling to free his torso from the heavy blanket, which had followed him to the ground. The copy was defiantly alive and not any form of illusion. Alive and angry.

“GURADS!” 

The angry yell from the floor opposite him made getting the bloody hell out of there sound like a fantastic idea. He needed somewhere quite to gather himself, think and hopefully figure out what was happening. Now, with a glimmer of a plan in mind, England drunkenly lurched to his feet, stumbling as the sheets tangled around his legs in an attempt to drag him back to the floor. The world spun distractingly before him and he felt surprisingly weak, like he had run a long distance marathon.

Once again the clone called out, “Intruder! GURADS!!” in a furious voice, causing England to wince. He spared a second to glance behind him as he clumsily sprinted across the large room towards the door. His counterpart, dressed in white shin length pajamas, had somehow acquired a thin bladed rapier and was advancing towards him, a murderous frown marring his features. 

England reached for the door only to be halted as three frantic people burst into the room. He lurched to the side, narrowly avoiding the grasp of lead man, and paused momentarily in alarm as he took in their appearance. Had he be kidnapped by a group of crazy historical reenactors? They were all dressed in red, gold-buttoned overcoats complete with high boots and white undergarments, strongly resembling the palace guard. Putting the odd issue to one side for the time he sprang at the nearest guard, knocking his musket -Who used real muskets to kidnap people?- to one side, slamming the base of his hand into the mans chin in a upper cut. He ducked a stab from the second guard and proceeded to ram his shoulder into the tall man’s sternum, snatching the blade from his belt in the process. After twisting around the last man England bolted out the door. Even in his weakened state he was more than a match for a few human guards. 

The corridors were vaguely familiar and England was attacked by a strong and disconcerting sense of deja-vu as he quickly maneuvered through them. He chalked it up a lot of these old estates had similar layouts, having owned a few in his time. There was no denying that this large house was some sort of old gothic inspired estate. It had been preserved in its traditional state, judging by the various items he ran past and the fact that there was no electric lights or any intrusions of modern technology. England shook himself, this was no time to admire the wonderful historical conservation, he needed to find a place to calm himself, regain his strength and think his situation through. 

After navigating through an extensive series of corridors he rounded a corner and smiled in relief as he spotted the front entrance down a flight of curved marble stairs, which were rimmed with gold banisters. Yet, before he could make his way down and towards freedom, an image caught the corner of his eye, causing him to skid to a halt. 

He came to a full stop just before the staircase, centering him at the end of a large and elaborate entrance hall. He gawped up in disbelief, freezing in shock. There before him was a ridiculously oversized and ornately framed painted portrait of himself. The portrait’s eyes gazed unsympathetically down at him from a golden setting and a superior smile stretched across the figure’s lips. He was dressed in fine furs of red and gold, which contrasted wonderfully with the rich blue sky in the background. The whole effect was rather eye catching. 

He remembered this portrait. It had been the largest he had ever had commissioned, taking almost three years to finish, and had been positioned in the auditorium of his most lavish Egham estate. He had had it packed away into storage after the first word war and it had been destroyed during the bombings of the second. Yet, here it was, looking almost brand new. In fact, England glanced around, every thing here looked startlingly familiar. Almost exactly like his large manor, which had been constructed in Surry towards the end of the 1600s. It had undergone several refurbishing’s the most significant happing after the collapse of the west wing. In fact if you replaced the gold railing with a more subtle silver and imagined the sizeable crystal chandelier as being a more modern and robust electric candelabra it almost looked like his Egham estate. 

England quickly began reorganizing information in his mind as a new picture of the room began to emerge. The curtains were the wrong colour and he did not have a red velvet walkway extending from the bottom of the stairs to the door… but if you removed it along with mahogany benches. He cut the line of thought short. There was no possible way this could be his Egham Manor because that would place him somewhere between the years 1760 and 1918, judging by the décor. Which meant that, at some point during the middle of last night, he had somehow traveled back in time. 

He did not know what was more ridiculous, the notion of being kidnapped by very thorough and accurate reenactors or the idea of being transported back in time.


	2. Chapter 2

His moment of epiphany was interrupted when he was forced to dodge the sword of his clone who, after finally catching up, had lunged at him from behind. He parried the next strike, ducking a jab, before jumping back several steps from additional room. He recognized these movements. Self assured, precise, controlled power behind each strike. It had been his own fighting style before it adapted to account for the constant changes in modern weaponry and war. Even the blade was familiar. England was assaulted with images and history of the weapon as his brain quickly attacked him with information. Made by sword smith Benjamin Stone, it had been given to him as a gift. In fact he still had it, though he rarely used it, preferring his shorter but more maneuverable swordstick. 

“Give me your name intruder.” 

The demand interrupted his stream of thought. 

Easily knocking aside the next two strikes England ignored the question. The face was younger, hair slightly longer, eyes blighter but it defiantly looked like a version of himself. A much younger version of himself. 

The notion of this being a joke was becoming more and more unlikely. There were too many small details adding up for this all to be staged. Everything felt too realistic and the sense of familiarity and awareness was too strong to ignore.

“Answer me.” 

His, apparent, younger counterpart seemed to grow irritated by his continued silence. “What is your purpose and which country do you represent. I assure you if you do not answer you will regret it.”

The sentence was punctuated with another series of strikes with more power behind then, causing England to stumble. It had been a long time since he had been in a proper sword flight. If this was a younger him and this was the Egham estate….was correct to assume he was in the past? How was this possible and when exactly was he?

“Stop,” he commanded. 

He pooled his power into the order and was momentary stumped when the well of energy usually at his disposal seamed muted as if filtering over a long distance. That was somewhat worrying. But, he put the issue to one side, being too concerned with his current situation and keeping himself from panicking. 

He and his counterpart paused. 

His counterpart’s face darkened and he began to examine England fully.

“So you do speak,” the other him finally retorted with some contempt, raising his sword to continue the fight. 

To avoid further conflict England slowly raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, dropping his commandeered weapon, which clattered loudly on the ground. His copy cautiously moved to kick it out of reach, eyes never leaving him. 

If this was the past then it would be best not to continue to flight and create more of a stir. Better to conserve energy and come up with a plan.

“I think there has been a misunderstanding.” England stated. The other gave him an incredulous look, momentarily stumped by England’s casual tone. However, it had the desired effect, causing his younger self to lose some of the tension in his shoulders and lower his blade ever so slightly. 

“Bullocks!” The other him started angrily, “One does not simply craw in to another’s bed uninvited by accident.”

England spluttered at the accusation in indignation feeling slightly mortified. When said like that it sounded like he was some sort of pervert. Somewhere he was sure France was laughing himself to death and he would never hear the end of this if America ever found out. Not that they could find out with him being in the freaking PAST! But there was not time to think of such things as his laps in attention had once again caused the other to narrow his eyes in mistrust. Not impressed in the slightest his counterpart raised his sword again.

“Who sent you?” He growled. 

Is that what he had looked like when he was trying to intimidate someone? It was little wonder he managed to scare anyone at all. Then again it might be more intimidating save for the fact that England had seen it all before and had experienced much worst. That and he could not get over the surreal experience of not only talking to himself but also somehow ending up in the PAST! 

“I assured you there has defiantly been some sort of mistake.” England tried again in a calmer tone, continuing to hold his hands in the air. His words did little to relieve his younger self who flicked to sword towards his throat in warning. 

England mentally signed. If this was indeed a past version of himself then he would be stubborn not to mention suspicious. Perhaps it would be best for him to remain silent, wait for his counterpart to draw his own conclusions and make his escape later. God, this was going to give him such a headache.

“What sort of country are you anyway. I can barely feel your presence. Not very strong are you,” England ignored the jab. Despite the brash tone England observed his counterpart’s eyes keenly flickering over him quickly taking in his posture and appearance, trying to piece everything together.

“Is that how you entered without me sensing you?” 

It was an important question because if a country failed to sense another sneaking through their borders who knew what sort of damage could be committed. It also revealed that his younger self was beginning to suspect something amiss. 

They were interrupted from further questioning by the loud yelling and stamping of feet as a dozen guards filed onto the landing and were quick to surround him in a half circle. They were a bit late. England took a moment to study the new arrivals, marking their positions. There was a shout and they all raised their weapons, looking slightly confused, eyes flickering between the two England’s. 

“Give me some time and I’ll explain everything,” England tried again in a reasonable voice. He just needed time to sort himself out and come up with a plan. His younger self frowned obviously aggravated by the lack of answers he was receiving but unwilling to make a scene in front of the humans. There was a few seconds of what appeared to be internal debate before he pulled back, fixing England with an evaluating glower. 

“Very well.” He said irritably, “Guards! Escort him the west wing,” 

Several of the guards exchanged surprised glances before one spoke up, “Sir should we not call the tower guard and have this imposter escorted elsewhere.”

“Do as I say,” The other him cut in impatiently, “Make sure you put him in a room with no windows and post guards as well.” 

The guards once again swapped confused looks before quickly moving to secure his hands behind his back. The hallway fell into silence broken by the stamping of heavy boots and clank of muskets as the guards shifted around. His counterpart continued to eye him warily as if he were a confusing puzzle to be solved. His shoulders were suddenly grabbed and he was forcibly spun around and marched down the left passage in the opposite direction of his arrival. He glanced over his shoulder still unwilling to believe that that was actually the past version of himself watching him being led away.

A certain and uncomfortable weight settled upon him and England was quick to recognize it as his counterpart placing a ‘fix’ on his position. It was a common practice meant to prevent other country personifications from freely moving around a host nation’s land. It tracking the escapees a lot easer. This would make it considerably more difficult to escape later…if it came to that. 

The men leading him, evidently, reached their destination and he was shoved rather unceremoniously into what looked to be a storage room. A quick check of his memories revealed that he was indeed in a linin closet in the west wing. He frowned, if his memory served him correctly he was sure that his building had holding cells in the lower levels near the cellars. So why wasn’t he in one of them. Perhaps it was some sort of power play.

England pondered the oddity for a several seconds then gave up and plopped himself down on a large crate in the corner. He was getting too old for this. It was a miracle he hadn’t gone insane with all the crap he had put up with over the years. How the bloody fuck had he ended up in the PAST! He took a few deep breaths to calm himself, recognizing his actions and thoughts drawing closer and closer to hysterics. With a sigh he began to mentally work through his situation. 

The first issue- why he had not realized he was in one of his past homes or immediately remembered the objects around him- was the easiest to explain. Like many countries he lived a long time and, as such, had acquired a wealth of information and experience over the years. So not to get caught up or bogged down in excessive amounts of knowledge he carefully stored a lot of it away so it did not interfere with his everyday life. It did no one any favors to get tapped in the past. 

Then there was weaken connection to his people and land. He could feel them but they were all so distant, causing England to rub his hands together nervously. He felt surprisingly valuable without the reassuring presence of his million or so citizens and their accompanying knowledge, hopes and aspirations backing him up. He shivered.

And, of course, there was the most pressing issue regarding being mysteriously transported into the 18th century. He cast in mind back, wracking his brain in an attempt to pinpoint what he could have done to have landed himself in this situation. Nothing came to him. The last thing he remembered was having a late night cup of tea then lying down on his office sofa for a quick brake, proceeding a stressful day discussing independence with Scotland and a lot of paper work. After which he had somehow awakened in the years of the Empire. He paused as the thought sunk in. The 1700-1800s were an important time period for himself as an Empire. It had seen expansion across North America, the America revolution, trouble in Europe, Nepolean wars, growth in Africa and into the Pacific, the end of the hundred years war. A sort of anticipation began tugging at his consciousness as he latched onto the idea. 

He could change everything!

Excitement built as the notion caught hold and a million plans began running through his head. All those wars and death did not have to happen. With the knowledge he now possessed he could catapult England to the most advanced country in the span of a decade. He would be superior. Better medicine, technology and weaponry. No one would be able to stop him. He knew the pitfalls and actions, which would lead to a downward spiral. He could maintain the Empire. 

England quickly chocked the line of thought, forcibly putting a lid on the ambitious ideas. Firstly, he did not even know when exactly he was so there was no use getting ahead of himself. Secondly, technically this was not even his land, it belonging to his younger self. He didn’t know how changing the past would affect him and his future. As tempting as it all sounded, being able to help and save his people, there were too many variables and unknowns. 

For now it was best to withhold action, figure everything out and not go jumping into the situation like that idiot American. Maybe, if he were younger and more reckless, he would have jumped at an opportunity such as this. But, questions like; how did this time travel work and why did he not remember these events, needed to be answered. Since he was in the past and that had defiantly been the younger him upstairs…Why did he not remember the encounter? You would think something like having a doppelganger sneak into bed with you would be something to remember despite the passage of time. Or was this a different sort of time travel. Was he even connected to the physical land of England and its people of this time? Aside from the distinct lack of strength he felt no different. This led him to conclude that he was still connected to modern England. Though how it was at all possible was beyond him. The only thing he could think of that might reveal some answers was his large library about magical practice, myth and folk law as he had yet to see any technology advanced enough to send someone back in time. He was certain he had some texts centering around time and time travel. 

Lost in contemplation England quickly lost track of time and was startled when movement outside pulled him back to reality. England, now more composed, stood up and brushed himself off, facing the paneled door. He had not had a chance to concoct an escape plan so for now he resigned himself to gaining as much information as possible. While he had been thinking he was certain that the other him had being doing the same, drawing his own conclusions. He would allow his younger counterpart to make the first move and then decide what to do based on what was revealed. It would be best if he could gain access to his library and if that failed he would have to wait for a chance to escape. He knew intimately how he worked so it should be possible to briefly throw off his younger self if he needed to escape. `

There was a scratching at the door, as a key was fitted to the lock, before it swung open to reveal his younger counterpart. They both paused and silently examined the other. England drew back slightly at the new development, noticing several changes to the others appearance. 

The younger him held himself stiff and regal, standing tall where as England’s posture was more relaxed. His hair had been slicked back and looked neat and well cared for. England smothered a smile, remembering how fussy he had been about his hair back then. 

His younger self eyed him silently, obviously choosing his next words, his gaze denoting disapproval. 

It took a few seconds for England to conclude that this was most likely directed at his own rather scruffy appearance. After all he was wearing the altered version of a soldier’s World War One uniform, which he was so fond of, meaning a thick black singlet and military issue brown trousers tucked into heavy boots. It probably wasn’t helped by the fact that he had fallen asleep in the attire, making everything slightly crumpled. England took a second to lament the fact that he was missing his jacket, having left it slung over the back of his office chair back in his own time. It all contrasted rather startling with his younger self’s immaculate embroidered cote, polished knee high boots and overall spotless presentation. 

He must have been making an odd expression for his younger self was now frowning at him and England immediately schooled his expression. He must remember not to be lolled into a false sense of security by the familiar settings and innate sense of security, which accompanied being in one of his old homes. He was in, for all intensive purposes, an unknown and potentially hostile situation.

His younger self appeared to have come to some sort of conclusion for his expression shifted from contemplative to a welcoming, but stiff, smile. 

“I apologies for the rough treatment. But I’m sure you understand that the situation was rather startling,” The sentence was said smoothly without any unnecessary inflection and his younger self paused awaiting some sort of response. 

“Yes, the feeling is completely mutual,” England replied, causing his younger self to quirk an quirk and eyebrow. A habit England also had and was usually employed to cover surprise.

“How about we go somewhere more pleasant and discuss this civilly.” 

His counterpart stood to the side beckoning him to emerge from the linin closet with a sweeping gesture. England smiled lightly at the movement, appreciating the exaggerated mannerisms. 

“That would be…” England searched for an appropriate response, “Nice,” he finished and winced internally. That could have been smoother. 

“I have a reception room prepared if you would walk with me,” 

He then moved out into the corridor, keeping his gaze on his counterpart mimicking his own weary stare. There were no human guards in sight and he moved to walk level with his younger self.

As they walked England attempted to take in as much of his surroundings as possible, tying to gain as much information as possible that would allow him to get a handle on the time period. He managed to reaffirm what he had already concluded about the manor and that he was probably somewhere between the mid to late 1700s. 

He glanced at his counterpart who, despite walking slightly ahead of him, probably had him under close scrutiny. Should he tell his younger self that he was from the future? Obviously when he found out he would try to extract information on future events. Information that, at this moment, England was unwilling to share. It would make everything more difficult and risky but he was positive that he would be able to handle his younger self’s demanding nature. Telling his younger self would also mean that he would not have to attempt a daring escape and spend time and energy avoiding the English Empire which would be very hampering. Staying would also allow him access to his rather impressive library of magic and folk law- even if it would be smaller than the one he had back in his own time- which would help immensely in finding a way back to the future. If he played his cards right he may even be able to access Scotland or Ireland’s libraries though he didn’t have high hopes. It was better then nothing, which was where he was at the moment. He would just have to be careful not to let any of his future knowledge slip until he had a better understanding of his situation.

They arrived in a decorated drawing room. Sun streamed through large windows framed by white curtains embroidered with floral patterns. A round table nearest the window was set with fine china. England examined the set up, glancing at his counterpart who was once again attempting to subtlety examining him. Several servants appeared and began serving them tea and an assortment of cakes, pulling out a chair for himself. 

The following tea was both tense and awkward at the same time. Awkward because England was sure he was forgetting some sort of protocol and tense due to the constant ‘subtle,’ glances his younger self was sending him. He was rather good at hiding his interest but England had several decades more experience in the political arena, making the glances easer to catch. 

“I am sorry, but I do not recognize you, so pardon any ill manners.” England almost sighed as his younger self began the conversation with an obvious dig for information. 

“Understandable, you can not be expected to recognize every country who walks through your door,” England said with understanding, dogging the question. 

His counterpart frowned slightly, “But you did not come through the door, which you have to admit was most surprising and a justification of my earlier reaction,”

England felt himself heat up a bit, he would never live that done, “ As I said before, it was not intentional,” 

“You must have been traveling to a difficult location for you to have fallen so far of course,” 

“I certainly did not end up where I expected to so I appreciate your understanding,” England once again evaded the question. 

If his counterpart wanted answers he would have to ask outright. He would not work with someone who was constantly trying to manipulate him and if the younger him could not understand this then he would seek help elsewhere. 

“Perhaps it was an energy fluctuation as your energy signature dose appear to be slightly off,” 

“I had not noticed but I will take your advise into consideration,” England deflected again. 

I few minuets of silence passed between them and his counterpart appeared to have come to a conclusion as his posture had changed. 

“I simply can not pair your energy signature with any one of the countries I know which would lead to the obvious conclusion that you are a new nation or a nation I have yet to meet, “ he paused, examining England for a reaction, “This, while unlikely, is not impossible save for the fact that your energy signature is unnervingly similar to my own.” 

England smiled as the other finally placed his cards of the table, awaiting a response. He caught on quick. 

This was it. Should he remain silent or should he reveal he was from the future. He had already decided that he would not reveal any information about future events, for now anyway. But there was always some risk as his younger self would probably still fish for information. However, he needed a way back to the present and if he wanted to find one as fast as possible he needed help. So, England took a deep breath, looking his counterpart dead in the eye. 

“You want to know who I am, and where I come from,” He began.

“Yes,” 

“You were right when you concluded that I am a nation and the similarity between our energy signatures is not a coincidence.” 

He paused.

“I am Arthur Kirkland, I am the personification of England and I come from the 21st century.” 

His younger self looked slightly shocked at the revelation, cup suspended half way between the table and his mouth. Though not as shocked as he could have been, meaning he had probably figured parts of it already. 

Yes, England was sure he could handle what ever his younger self could throw at him. In the mean time he could work at gaining a better understanding of the situation and time he was in. 

He was sure he could figure this out, after all, he had lived it all before he was sure he could do it a second time.


End file.
